


A Familiar Feeling

by Storm_Kanne



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 05:49:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storm_Kanne/pseuds/Storm_Kanne
Summary: My own take on what happened between Aziraphale and Crowley on the night before the first day of the rest of their lives. From the bustop in Tadfield to Crowley's flat, a conversation brings up the past and a plan, as old feelings emerge.





	A Familiar Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've ever shared publicly and it was great to feel the joy of writing about something I cared about again. I know that there are plenty of fics out there about the events of this night and I hope that viewers and book readers alike will enjoy this little bit of fluff from my own imagination. Thank you!

“You can stay at my place if you like.” Aziraphale hoped Crowley hadn’t recognized the momentary wistful longing in his eyes. As he regained his composure, he repeated his practiced response.

“I don’t think my side would like that.”

“You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side. Like Agnes said, we’re going to have to choose our faces wisely.”

Aziraphale exhaled deeply as Crowley looked away and hailed the bus to a halt. In silence, an angel and a demon climbed aboard. While the proposition of a night together was something he couldn’t openly agree to just yet, Aziraphale knew in his heart that there was only one side that mattered, and in a moment of bravery, took the seat next to Crowley. Over the course of the weeks leading up to Armageddon, Aziraphale had realized that eleven years of near constant contact had taken its toll. Throughout the centuries they had become accustomed to floating in and out of each other’s lives, sometimes going entire centuries without speaking. As the years passed and Aziraphale settled into his bookshop in Soho, visits became more frequent. Somewhere in the years, they had formed an unspoken agreement to meet there for social evenings and discussion about The Arrangement, but more often than not these meetings were no more frequent than a few times a decade. Armageddon had been different from the start, and now with the forces of Heaven and Hell all too aware of their involvement in its derailing, Aziraphale didn’t want to be alone, to be away from, or without Crowley for even a second. 

The idea of spending the night with Crowley both terrified and exhilarated the principality. Of course they’d spent nights together before, driving around in the Bentley or talking until sunrise in the backroom of Aziraphale’s bookshop. However, when the moon started to fade into the dawn, the demon had always finished his wine and sashayed off to wherever it was that he went, and Aziraphale had never asked questions. Sitting beside each other now in hard plastic seats, he could faintly smell a mixture of sweat, ash, and gasoline. The aftermath of the Bentley clung to Crowley’s jacket and his hair, radiating off him, just barely covering the distinct smell of Sulphur and an unidentifiable sweetness, he knew to be Crowley. The evil that Gabriel and Sandalphon had detected in Aziraphale’s bookshop sat next to him with arms crossed and black shades reflected in the window. The scowl he wore so well fleeted from his face as he caught the angel staring at him.

“What?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice soft and unaccusing.

“I was just thinking…perhaps it would be a good idea to stay together- just for tonight. Until the whole world-ending business calms down.” Crowley smiled, his thin lips pursed tight together and nodded in agreement.

“Next stop Mayfair.” The loudspeaker boomed right on cue.

As the pair disembarked from the bus, Aziraphale lingered at its steps and gazed up at a towering concrete structure. Crowley was already ahead of him waiting patiently at the entry doors.

“Come on, Angel.” There it was again, Aziraphale thought. There was a softness in Crowley’s voice that had been underpinning every conversation since he showed up at the airbase earlier that day. To Aziraphale, it didn’t quite make sense. Crowley had been so angry the last time he saw him, calling him stupid, and yelling at him on the street in full view of humans. Now the demon held the door for him, and the two strolled into the elevator that took them up to Crowley’s flat.

As Crowley opened the door, Aziraphale found much too his surprise, a large living space with expansive hallways and revolving doors. The flat had high ceilings, dramatic lighting, and surprisingly, plants. Crowley hurriedly walked in past Aziraphale, ducking into the kitchen and began busying himself making a drink. Aziraphale wandered further into Crowley’s lounge taking in the décor of a royal throne, a red marble desk, and several other invaluable renaissance art pieces when his eyes caught sight of a familiar statue.

“Is this? It can’t.”

Aziraphale seemed to be saying to himself more than anyone else. Amongst all of Crowley’s other relics, one stood out. Aziraphale knew it from a church he had visited a long time ago, a night when German bombs had rained down upon them. It had been on that particular night when he first felt the odd sensation that The Arrangement, originally meant to avoid a bit of excess travel and discomfort, might have been something more. Aziraphale smiled in wonderment, eyes taking in the shape of an eagle with outstretched wings cut from washed stone. In between those wings, he spotted the rough outline of a book where once, a bible might have rested.

“Oh, seen that have you?” Aziraphale failed to notice Crowley had reappeared, two glasses in hand.

“What? Oh.” Aziraphale tried to hide his expression of momentary confusion as Crowley handed him a glass of wine.

“Don’t mind me, I’m going for a bit of the harder stuff.” Crowley said, nodding to his own glass of whiskey and took a sip. Aziraphale decided to press the issue. After all, after the week they had had, this was no time to fall back into the habits of the soft timid bookseller he had relied on.

“I was admiring The Eagle. You went back for it. All these years, you never told me.”

“Hm?” Crowley at this point had sprawled out on his white leather sofa against the wall of the lounge. Sunglasses removed and ash still clinging to his clothes, he looked so tired and the angel could see how the demon had become accustomed to the habit of sleep.

“Oh that.” Crowley distantly glanced towards the statue seemingly determined not to give Aziraphale the joy of any hint of his not-so-secret sentimentally or penchant for souvenirs.

“Ah…yeah, okay. Just a little decoration, pulls the whole room together really, I think.” And with that stammered explanation, Crowley returned his attention to his drink. As Aziraphale moved about the lounge, eyes falling upon a sketch of the Mona Lisa, he nearly tripped over what looked to be a crumpled overcoat and a pile of clothes lying on the floor.

“Watch your step, might be a tad damp still.” Suddenly it dawned on Aziraphale what had happened. He’d seen the look of desperation in Crowley’s face as he slammed on the brakes of the Bentley and ran up to him outside the bookshop, begging Aziraphale to go with him but dismissed it. At the time, he had hardly considered Alpha Centauri to be a viable option. His mind had been on resolving the whole issue with the Almighty herself. Crowley had driven away and Aziraphale was still scheming to himself as he walked on. Guilt washed over the angel in a wave as he raised a perfectly manicured hand to his chest thankful that Crowley had not acted recklessly or panicked and used the holy water in other ways. From his place on the sofa, Crowley seemed to be reading Aziraphale’s thoughts.

“I told you I wasn’t going to use it to off myself. Although after what I’ve done, a bath could be in my future still.” Crowley leaned forward to the edge of his seat, lifting his drink to his lips, staring off into the distance, his face now expressionless, muscles tensed, he looked like a viper waiting to strike.

“I won’t hear of it. There has to be a way.” As Aziraphale pleaded, Crowley seemed to snap out of his trance and leaned back once more.

“It doesn’t matter. Have a drink with me Angel, the world’s not ending tonight.” Aziraphale moved slowly across the room and took his place on the sofa beside him. It was strange seeing Crowley like this; in his space with so much defeat in his voice and yet they were free, for the time being.

“Do you know why I was in that pub?” Crowley turned to face him and that was the first moment Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s eyes since arriving at the flat. As much as he changed his appearance and style to fit the times, Crowley’s eyes always remained that of his serpent form and were the one constant Aziraphale could rely on. Sunglasses were his shield, as his eyes kept him from blending in seamlessly with humanity. Humans however, were far more indiscriminatingly evil and better at cruelty, Aziraphale had decided, but never told Crowley for fear of upsetting him.

Even now, he was searching the demon’s face for clues of what he was thinking. Large golden eyes with thin black slits looked back at him, and in those eyes, Aziraphale saw utter exhaustion, sadness, and perhaps a little trace of hope.

“The pub?” Aziraphale searched his mind. The entire day seemed like a blur. The Metatron, Sergeant Shadwell, Madame Tracy, candles, he hadn’t even remembered that the bookshop was gone until just an hour ago. Perhaps memory loss was a side effect of discorporation and-

“Oh! Yes! I was trying to figure out how to tell you to get to Tadfield, and the whole not having a body business you see and…” He went on searching for words, having forgotten the question momentarily. 

“You were getting drunk.” It came out more accusatory than he meant, but still in his mind he hadn’t quite placed why Crowley had been drinking three bottles of fine scotch at what was meant to be the deadline for Armageddon. He’d beaten the demons sent to dispatch him obviously, but it had been a little early to start celebrating. He thought again of the pile of clothes on the floor and a hazy memory of a phone conversation came back to him. 

“Your friend? You knew him well, and you had to…the holy water?” Aziraphale asked voice trailing off while motioning to what remained of Ligur.

“Hah!” Crowley scoffed loudly. “Not in this millennia.” He paused and then turned again to look directly at Aziraphale, his serpentine eyes meeting Aziraphale’s pale blue-green gaze.

“I thought I lost you, you idiot.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened as Crowley quickly looked away, putting his face in his hands as he let out a long exhale. Hands clasped together, he leaned forward and spoke again in a low serious tone.

“If that happens again, and they will try, I don’t think I could bear it.” Whether it was caused by exhaustion, fear, or the drink, Aziraphale couldn’t say, but Crowley seemed to be swaying ever so slightly, his elbows and shoulders brushing up against Aziraphale’s, touching him almost imperceptibly. The look on Crowley’s face was one he hadn’t seen before. A strange mixture of shame and nervousness, as the demon struggled for words.

“I was afraid we’d lost and that I had lost you...that the world was over. This whole blasted planet, I didn’t want it to end, to lose everything we had. It’s all a part of well, me.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale softly sighed his name and tried to hide his blushing smile. He’d always known deep down that Crowley liked being on Earth, but hadn’t expected to be a part of what he liked best. 

“I know, I know, how “nice.” Crowley said making a face reminiscent of the one he had when he reluctantly agreed to drive Anathema home after hitting her with his car.

“I always did say we had a lot in common you and me.” As Crowley took another gulp of his drink, wheels began to turn in the angel’s mind, a plan slowly beginning to form.

“That’s it!” Aziraphale shouted and jumped to his feet.

“We’re a part of each other, but what if we could be more?” A comedic expression of mixed terror and confusion crossed Crowley’s face.

“Not an angel and a demon…something more. What if I were the demon…and you were the angel?” he said enthusiastically.

“I’m afraid that didn’t work out so well last go around.” Crowley said with his usual sullen sarcasm.

“No, no, not like pretending. Something else entirely, well like a possession really. But instead of both of us in one body…” Aziraphale paused for dramatic effect with the enthusiasm only an aspiring magician could have. “We switched!”

“Choose our faces…” Crowley mumbled, brows furrowed as he thought about it and shrugged. “There just might be something to Agnes Nutter after all. Yes alright, it’s worth a go. How do we do it then?”

“I’m not quite sure...Madame Tracy was a bit more, well…er… inviting.” Crowley glared up at him and let out a low growl between clenched teeth.

“I didn’t say we couldn’t try.”

“Fine. Fine. Okay maybe if we stand like this.” In one quick motion, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands and pulled him to his feet so they stood facing each other.

“And something like this perhaps…” He nervously raised his hands until they were just cupping Crowley’s cheeks, half expecting the demon to jerk away, but he didn’t. His pupils had grown larger, yellow-green enveloping the whole of his eyes, barely leaving any white, and yet Crowley stood cooperatively.

“And then what?” He briskly asked, eyes nervously scanning the floor.

"Close your eyes.” Crowley let out another annoyed sigh but obeyed. Aziraphale smiled a little. Crowley’s expression had reminded him of the times when Aziraphale had wanted to show him a new magic trick he’d just learned. As much as Crowley complained, detested, and pleaded for the angel to stop with the silly games, he would always indulge Aziraphale with his time.

“Now we just take a few deep breaths and concentrate. Think very hard about what you want.”

Aziraphale closed his own eyes and leaned close until their foreheads came together, noses near touching. He was more nervous than he realized, and thought for a second about pulling away and calling off the whole thing until he felt hands land delicately on his own face. He could feel Crowley’s fingers brushing ever so slightly through his hair. The palm of his hands came to rest just beneath the angel’s ears, and Aziraphale felt his heartbeat quicken. A tingling sensation started his chest and spread throughout his extremities. Crowley’s touch seemed to send waves of a familiar warmth through his body’s entire nervous system.

“There it is again.” Aziraphale said with a chuckle, his eyes still shut tight. 

“That feeling, like the one in Tadfield. Do you feel it?” Aziraphale asked, his hands very much still on the demon’s face, although whose hands were now a question, as red locks tinted white. In the middle of Crowley’s lounge, the pair stood; their bodies were now faintly glowing, not that either of them could see it as their forms began to shift slowly but surely.

“Yes, Angel. I suppose I do.”


End file.
